


Jeeves and the Enigma of the Timbale de Veau

by preux



Series: Bertie and Jeeves: International Men of Mystery [3]
Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Competent!Bertie, Cooking, Established Relationship, Food, International intrigue, M/M, Spies, Target Practice, cleaver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:32:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preux/pseuds/preux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stilton Cheesewright, apprentice spy, needs help with a case, Bertie and Jeeves lend a hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stilton pays a morning visit

**Bertie**

The old sun dawned in a busy, blasted unruly fashion, breaking into a blissful session of slumber in the Jeevesian arms and heralding the imminent arrival of Stilton Cheesewright, MI6 operative and blighter of the first water, who had been in Wooster’s bad books for some days.  Had W. not been ensconced in the J. a., much burrowing under pillows would have followed.  It was not to be, but there were consolations.

“Good-morning, love,” Jeeves nuzzled the Wooster pate and commenced to applying tender kisses to the ear and throat.  A stir in the deeps of the W. pajama bottoms followed, as the Jeevesian fingers began to undo buttons and stroke the bare skin beneath.

“Morning, Reg.  I…ah..oh…that is just… ah…topping.” In a few seconds, I was completely bare and my throbbing member was being caressed gently by the Jeevesian tongue and lips, while he stroked the various other areas that comprised my more private bits.  The gold ring he wore on a chain around his neck bounced against my thigh. I climaxed, spasming ecstatically and then going completely limp.  Jeeves gathered me into an embrace and a little “oof” escaped the lips as I struggled to gain control over the pipes.

"Shh, love, go back to sleep now."  I did as I was told.

The next awakening was not quite so pleasant.  “Ho!” I started and flailed, sending pillows flying, and made an inarticulate guttural noise. Jeeves shimmered over and extended a hand just before I tumbled out of the bed and onto the floor.  “Mr. Cheesewright to see you, sir.  Shall I help you dress?”  He turned and locked the door.

“Ah, Reg, I am sorry.”  He cupped the back of my head in a hand and pressed his forehead against mine.  “I wanted to…what are you wearing?”

“There is no need to apologize, love.”  He handed me a cup of tea and I sipped while he laid out some strange, stretchy garments.

“Ah…won’t these reveal rather a lot of the personal…” I pinkened, then noted that he was wearing something similar, topped with a pair of loose shorts. It was quite fetching.  “I am having rather a stir, just seeing you in… you do look quite topping.”

“Mr. Cheesewright expressed a desire that we do our Swedish exercises in the nude. You know how I responded, I think.” The e.s narrowed.

Jealousy coursed violently and unbidden through the Wooster veins. “In New York, did you do exercises in the nude with…”

Jeeves flushed. “No, love, I thought I’d told you that you are the only person who has seen me in the nude since the war?”

“Ah, oh. I didn’t realize that you had not just meant… er, whatnot. Ah, not even a physician?” he shook his head. I took his hand and he rested the bean on my shoulder. I rubbed his back and kissed him.  “All right?” He nodded, then helped me into the stretchy shirt and undershorts and then the toppers.

“It is quite comfy.”

Jeeves looked grim just before he settled his professional face. “Enjoy the sensation while you can.  Mr. Cheesewright is a merciless trainer.”

 

**Jeeves**

Mr. Wooster had been approached by the MI6 to perform a mission, and the consequent tightness in my chest woke me well before dawn. We had plighted our troth to each other just a day before and I could not help feeling somewhat resentful that we did not have the luxury of even a single week of peace before Mr. Cheesewright descended upon our happy home and disrupted it with training and violence and hostility. The lack of response from my friend Georges to the cables I had sent was only and added aggravation and worry.

I held Mr. Wooster close in my arms, breathing in the musky smell of him as he slept.  He felt my movements and reflexively nestled closer, murmuring, “what ho, Jeeves,” which had been his customary morning’s greeting through the years of our professional association. The tension left my body as he pressed up against me. I rested my head against the pillows and drifted back to sleep. He woke at dawn, trembling, and I soothed him back to sleep in the best manner I knew.  How I enjoyed the feel of him in my mouth. I rested with him for an hour or so past my usual time, then rose to start the day. 

Mr. Cheesewright was expected at ten, which coincided with Mr. Wooster’s customary hour of rising.  I dressed in some close-fitting clothing intended for exercise and laid out the weights and other implements that had arrived by courier the preceding afternoon with a certain sense of dread.  I was well used to performing strenuous exercise and physical work, but Mr. Wooster was a much more delicate physical specimen than myself and I feared for his health and safety.

It was somewhat past ten when Mr. Cheesewright arrived, looking harried and rather upset. His customary “Ho!” of greeting was energetic, however, and the tightness in my chest only increased.

“Good morning, Mr. Cheesewright.  May I offer you some refreshment? I am just preparing some tea and toast for Mr. Wooster.”

“Thank-you, Jeeves, that is a kind offer.  What are you wearing?  I thought I told you Wooster and I would be doing the exercises in the nude.” I maintained eye contact.  “Ah, right.  Er, Jeeves, about the business in New York.  I was wholly in the wrong to approach you like that, I hope you can forgive me the liberty.”  I inclined my head. “I take it that you will be joining us?”

“If it suits yourself and Mr. Wooster.  I took the liberty of obtaining a similar outfit for yourself, sir.”

Mr. Cheesewright dropped his eyes and meekly accepted the tea and toast I had prepared.  “Thank-you, this is delicious. And drop that ‘sir’ nonsense when we are alone, please.  It would pip my supervisor to know.”

“Very well. What did you have in mind as a regimen?”

Mr. Cheesewright looked embarrassed.  “Truthfully, I wanted to figure out his limits.  I… would you mind sitting so I can speak with you, Jeeves?”

“Of course not, Mr. Cheesewright,” I sat down. 

“This French blighter refused to speak with me.  Said he’d only speak with Wooster, and no one has any idea why.  It’s not like he’s a spy or even very bright.” I make a small noise in the back of my throat and Mr. Cheesewright continued.  “I simply do not like it, bringing someone like him into a potentially dangerous situation.”

I was moved.  “Between us, we can protect him, Mr. Cheesewright.  I was very thankful when you saved him from being shot.”

“Thankful?  Is that why he threatened me?”  I drew myself up and gave Mr. Cheesewright a quelling look.

“I am unaware of any threats issued to you by Mr. Wooster.  Such behavior seems highly uncharacteristic, Mr. Cheesewright, but I may assure you that I feel a strong regard for him as a kind and generous employer.”

Mr. Cheesewright snorted. “Is he awake yet?”

“Unlikely. He was anxious and did not sleep well.”

Mr. Cheesewright moved toward the open bedroom door and looked in. I managed to slip by just as he said “Ho!”  I prevented Mr. Wooster from falling out of the bed in a state of undress. Mr. Cheesewright muttered, “coddled” as I closed the door.

 

**Bertie**

We ankled out of the bedroom and Stilton, dressed in a stretchy outfit, greeted me with a hearty slap on the arm.  I bounced off the Jeevesian chest and tumbled to the floor in an undignified heap.  “Wooster, you are an ass,” he said in a rummy voice not totally devoid of camaraderie. He looked frighteningly beefy in his getup, like a killer water buffalo who had broken free from the herd to rain down devastation on the surrounding countryside. “No, no, Jeeves. Let him get up himself.  He hoisted me up the side of a building just a few days ago and I must have at least 4 stone on him. No need to coddle him.”

“I say!” I said, clambering to the feet while Jeeves brushed off the stretchy outfit and fixed my hair. “No one coddles me.”

The Cheesewright eyes rolled. “You are the most coddled creature I have ever met,” he said, flexing his muscles, as Jeeves tugged my shorts into the proper trim. “Jeeves looks after your every need.  Look, he’s straightening your trousers.”

“Oh!  Why, thank-you, Jeeves. That’s most considerate of you.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

We oozed over to the largest spare bedroom, now equipped with weights and other paraphernalia and exercise mats.  Stilton steered me over to the smallest set of weights and got us started. He shouted a lot while I tried to heave and bend and twist in the manner indicated. It was bally difficult and Wooster suffered quite a bit, feeling like a sort of bruised and battered pretzel by halfway through proceedings. By the time Stilton allowed us to leave off, he was redder than a maraschino cherry, and even Jeeves was looking slightly pink about the ears.  I swayed, trying to stay upright on the wobbling pins, and feeling like a _timbale de veau,_ that is, minced and then molded back into a strange and foreign shape.

“Now we run,” said Stilton, breath heaving like a stevedore. 

“Sir, I think not,” said Jeeves, just as I tumbled to the floor. He helped me up and supported me. Stilton made no argument. “Mr. Wooster is unused to so much activity before his breakfast.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” I started to gabble, twisting slightly so that the Wooster frame was draped over a Jeevesian arm.  Jeeves gave me a squeeze while displaying a longsuffering look at Stilton.

“We only have a week,” said Stilton in a reasonable tone.

“If I may, Mr. Cheesewright, it would defeat the purpose if he was too stiff and sore to run away,” said Jeeves, helping me with my slippers.  Stilton conceded the point, and watched proceedings with a jaundiced eye.

“Can you stand up on your own, Wooster?”

“Of course, old top. Never felt better.”

Jeeves let go of me and I collapsed onto the floor with an indignant cry, slippers flying. “Very well,” said Stilton.  “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Wait,” I said, as Jeeves helped me up again and inserted the willowy feet into some socks. “How is Wally?”

“Still a blighter,” said Stilton, coloring slightly. 

Jeeves and I exchanged and glance. “Would you care for some breakfast, Mr. Cheesewright?” he offered.

“No,” said Stilton hurriedly.  “I told… I’m expected to an early lunch. May I use a loo to wash up?”

“Certainly, old bean,” I said.  While Stilton used the guest bath, Jeeves guided me to my own tub and ran the hot water.

“I am quite hungry,” said Jeeves.  “Will you be all right while I fetch something to eat?”

I assured him that I would be, and struggled not to slip down the side of the tub onto the floor.  The feet failed to grip the smooth tile, and I was wondering how to bend over and remove the socks, when a voice sounded.  “Ho!” The muscles vibrated but I was too tired to start.

“What ho, Stilton.”  I feigned a jaunty air.  “Are you feeling refreshed?”

“Thank-you Wooster, I am,” he said, as the willowy form began its descent to the floor.  “You are a bit of an ass.”  He inserted a beefy paw under one of my arms and levered me up.  “Here, lean against me,” he said, looking around for a space to prop me back up.

A small noise like the cough of a dyspeptic dove snagged our attention. Jeeves looked very upset, as indicated by a slight tightness about the lips. “May I be of assistance, sir?”

Stilton instantly handed me over.  “Ah, thank-you Jeeves.  Stilton was just putting me back in place.  I slipped down.”

“Yes, sir, the surfaces are quite smooth.  Shall I see you to the door, Mr. Cheesewright?”

They exeunted and I slid back onto the floor in a smooth, fluid motion.  Jeeves returned to find me scrabbling around like a drunken crab trying to get some footing. “Is this how Mr. Cheesewright managed to grasp you in a manly embrace?” The Jeevesian tone was soupy.

“What care I for the Cheesewright embrace?  And you mean his beefy e., I am sure,” I said, grasping the side of the tub with both hands.  The pins were like jelly and would not cooperate.  Jeeves chuckled. “It’s not funny,” I said irritably.  “I presume he’s issued from the premises to wreck havoc on the metropolis?”

“Something like that, love,” he chuckled as I continued to struggle. “Let me help you up.”

“No,” I said, stung. “I disdain to be snickered at and coddled.”  He watched with a sardonic look on his face while I scrabbled more desperately, and slid gently to the floor.

“Can you get up, love?”

“Of course” I said, levering myself up on the tub again. “As I said, I disdain to be snickered at and coddled.”  He watched with a sardonic look on his handsome visage while I scrabbled as before then collapsed in a heap like a bally uncomfortable rag doll with burning muscles. “Perhaps later,” I said, from depths of my heap.  “Leave me now.”

Jeeves sat next to me on the floor and caressed my face.  “I apologize for laughing at you. I was annoyed at the way you tolerated Mr. Cheesewright’s familiarity while you are dressed so scantily. May I please help you up?”

“I am in no mood to be manhandled and propped up on things. I would be alone,” I said, adopting the tone I used to dismiss Roderick Spode from his attack on Gussie Fink-Nottle.

“Very well, Bertie.  I thought that perhaps I could rub you with some of our scented oil, but if you would prefer your privacy, I would be happy to leave you.”

“No, Reg, I am stung, deeply stung, by your raillery and, er…  what flavour of scented oil, exactly?” I suddenly felt slightly more boomps-a-daisy.

“I thought that the sandalwood could be soothing after our exertions.”

“Oh, ah… well… are you very sorry, Reg?” It would not do to give in too quickly.  When two men of iron will share a home, sometimes firmness is necessary to maintain relations on an even keel.

He smothered a chuckle.  “I am very sorry, love.”

“Then why are you chuckling,” I asked petulantly.

“Because, my love, you are adorable and you have not complained once all morning, and you are the most specific dream rabbit, and I love you,” he said. The heart melted in my breast.

“Sandalwood sounds soothing,” I conceded.  “Would I be able to rub you at all…?”

“Of course, love.” 

“Wherever I like?”

He pinkened about the ears. “I believe we can arrive at a suitable agreement.”

“Very well, then, you may help me up.”

“Shall we bathe first?”

“No, indeed. I would like to see how the sandalwood mingles with your peculiar scent.”

“That sounds most agreeable.  I have laid out some toweling on the bed in my room.”

**Jeeves**

Mr. Wooster has rendered me positively giddy with love, a feeling that is much enhanced by the way that exercise heightens his peculiar scent. His patience under the stress and fatigues of our training was unfailing and he was remarkably easy to manage afterward, despite his physical discomfort and annoyance. Perhaps he was experiencing the sort of rush of pleasure that comes from honest physical exertion. Or perhaps he was feeling generous after being pleasured this morning. I went so far as to call him a specific dream rabbit.

Despite my great pleasure in Mr. Wooster, whose first thought on hearing of the sandalwood scented oil was where he would apply it to my body, I am becoming increasingly concerned about Mr. Cheesewright’s behavior.  He seems to be acting almost fond of Mr. Wooster, in the manner of schoolboys who pretend to disdain the object of their desire.  I was dismayed to find him practically hugging my lover while I was in another room.  Clearly, I have no reason for jealousy. However, Mr. Cheesewright does seem to be experiencing some unaccountable emotions and therefore bears close watching.


	2. Another  day, another beret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves runs into an old friend. Bertie demonstrates a trick or two from the Drones.

**Bertie**

            Jeeves is really the most topping lover.  He scooped me up from the floor and kissed me soundly, then helped me into the small bedroom and fed me baguette and brie before helping me peel off the stretchy garments.  I lay, naked, on the soft toweling while he shimmered about the room looking delicious enough to lick all over.

            “Reg?” I heard the wheedle in my tone.

            “Yes?” He turned to me with an indulgent smile. 

            “Would you, er, take off, ah? Perhaps?”

            He blushed, as he always did, but he was smiling.  “Of course,” he peeled off his clothing until he was wearing nothing but the ring I had given him and watched my phallus rise in response, his pupils dilating and lips parting. He took up a small bottle of oil and opened it. A pleasing scent issued forth.

            “Reg, please?” I held out my hands and struggled to sit up. 

            He smiled and oozed over to the bed. “Are you certain, love?”

            “Please, Reg?”  He poured some oil into the Wooster paws and disposed himself on the bed where I could reach him. I started with his corking chest, pressing into the knotted muscles there. He groaned happily. We leaned in to lock the lips, and he shifted his hips closer.  “Is this a hint?”

            “Perhaps, love.”  He poured again and I took his personal bits in both hands, pressing my lips to his throat as he threw his head back.  I loved the way he responded to my touch, opening his legs, arching the back and groaning with enjoyment. His body glistened and the breath roared out of both of us as the smell of our sweat and the sandalwood filled the air.  The w. limbs trembled like jellies and it was all I could do not to lose control of myself right there. Jeeves pulled himself up and started directing matters. “Here, love, lie back.” 

He slicked his own hands and commenced to rub the willowy limbs with a firmness yet gentleness of touch that sent a keen from the W. lips.  “Ah… corking.”  He covered the full w. terrain and then gathered me against him and we commenced to rubbing against each other.  The blood crashed through the W. veins and some bally force or other propelled the quivering muscles into a vigorous display of enthusiasm as proceedings, er, proceeded.  Jeeves climaxed, and I held him against me, murmuring sweet nothings into his bally perfectly beautiful ear.  We kissed and he reached down to take me in hand. He had hardly grasped me around the chappies before I had curled up into a spasming, trembling ball of erotic bliss. We lay tangled together, slick and panting and smiling and immensely pleased with ourselves.

I reached to touch the ring around his neck.  “It suits you.  Thank-you for accepting me, Reg.”

“You suit me, love.”  Some tender treatment was lavished on him at this declaration. “I’d like to rub your muscles out, Bertie.  It will hurt you less tomorrow if I do.”

“But what about you?”

“I am accustomed to a more vigorous workout.”

“More vigorous?”

“Indeed.”  I marveled at my man, able to out Swedish exercise even the beefiest of coves in a single—exercise—clearly not the word I want, but perhaps it will come to me later. 

“That, what we just did, it was bally, bally fabulous.”

“Yes, the release of chemicals from the exercise enhances these feelings.”

I caught the drift here sooner than usual. “Enhances?” Jeeves smiled, a warm, loving, fond smile and planted his lips on my own.

“Yes, love.”

“Will you let me exercise with you after this?”

“Of course, love, and I think that, together, we could consider foregoing our clothing.”

I blushed deeply.  “I am not certain that I could contain…”

“That would be quite all right.  Here, lay on your front so I can knead your back.”

“That would be topping, Reg. Thank-you so much.”  I rolled over and, as the Jeevesian fingers righted my musculature, I drifted off to sleep for a few minutes and woke eager for a hot bath and some breakfast.

 

**Jeeves**

Most welcomely, Mr. Wooster and I have returned to an almost leporine, although he might say ‘bunny-like,’ frequency of amorous activities since we plighted our troth.  He is a supple and energetic lover and I find myself wondering how we can implement his plan to engage in rough and tumble relations in all rooms of the flat at a frequency as-yet-to-be-determined. 

After we enjoyed rubbing each other with the sandalwood scented oil, Mr. Wooster and I took a hot bath, ate a substantial breakfast and dressed for an afternoon out in the city.  I was anxious to see whether Georges had returned my cable, so we stopped at the postal office first.

“Look, Jeeves, there is a message.”

“Indeed.”  We entered a nearby hotel lobby and took a secluded corner. It was from Georges.  **_Meet me. The usual place. Bring your friend._** I cursed, and Mr. Wooster started and boggled.

“I say, Jeeves!”

“We must go back to that bistro.”

“The one with the _entrecote de marchand_? How was the _canard aux pommes et legumes verts_?” In my disbelief, I blinked a few more times than were strictly necessary.

“Georges wants to meet us.”

“Why are you blinking at me like that, old top?  I am beastly hungry after this morning’s exertions and last time we had to leave right after the _entrée._ You do remember that unpleasant chap who shot Stilton?” I took his arm and squeezed his elbow, which was our signal for a promise of affection later.  “Quite right, Jeeves.”

We proceeded to the bistro, where George sat with a newspaper and a cup of espresso. A large bruise emanating from a black eye stained his left temple, giving him the air of a criminal.  He rose and greeted us effusively.  “Ah!  Reginald and Mr. Wooster!  It is very good to see you again. Please sit.  I was about to take some lunch.”

Mr. Wooster, gentlemanly as always, forbore to indicate that he saw anything amiss in George’s appearance and studied the menu with his customary good-natured interest.  Georges clearly found his enthusiasm quite charming and assisted him in making his choices.  When Mr. Wooster was unable to decide between the _canard aux cerise et pomme puree_ or the _supreme de volaille et pomme frites_ I offered to take one so that he could partake of both.

“That would be topping of you, Jeeves.  But are you quite sure?  You took the _canard_ last time and I would not want to make you sacrifice culinary variety on my behalf.”

Georges immediately went still. “Last time?”

“Ah, yes, we came for dinner the night we met you and bumped into my old schoolfellow.  Large fellow, bulging with muscles.  Shouts a lot.”

Georges lifted an eyebrow, and I dropped my eyes.  Mr. Wooster started and boggled, sending a napkin flying into the air, which caught the attention of the waiter.  We ordered our food, and Mr. Wooster was extremely solicitous about the order, but I insisted that the _volaille_ and the _canard_ had been my preferences as well. Georges smiled knowingly at our exchange and chose the _timbale de veau et asperges._

“Yes,” I said, “You are correct.  I had recalled the place from when I was a very young man because it had strong associations with a very kind friend.”

“You are too sentimental about many things, Reginald.  Until you grow harder, this world will remain a dangerous place for you.”

I indicated his bruise. “I believe it is a dangerous place for you as well.”

“I am not harder than you.”  I inclined my head.  Mr. Wooster grew bored and drew Georges into a discussion of bourdeaux.  We chatted about indifferent things until the food appeared.  Mr. Wooster, whose manners are generally quite elegant and relaxed, finished most of his meal before I was halfway through the _canard._   Wordlessly, I gave him my plate and took the _volaille_.

“But Jeeves, this is hardly fair.” He protested, but I could see that he was still extremely hungry after the day’s exertions. 

“No, sir, I insist. We can order something else.”

Mr. Wooster had just finished the _canard_ and I was about to give him the last few bites of the _volaille,_ when a knife came whizzing through the air. Reflexively, Mr. Wooster lifted up the bread board and prevented the blade from entering Georges’ neck. A number of diners leapt up and brought the assailant to the floor. In the commotion that followed, I dragged Mr. Wooster under the table and urged him toward the front door, as Georges slipped out a back entrance.  My lover insisted on leaving enough money to cover our meals, but finally followed me.  We ran as fast as Mr. Wooster could go and came upon Georges, who had hailed a cab.

“Perhaps I can offer you a ride home?” We entered the cab and I gave the address of a hotel.  Mr. Wooster slumped in his seat, struggling to catch his breath. “Don’t you trust me, Reginald?”

“With **_my_** life,” I said.  He inclined his head.

“We do not have much time, Reginald. I know no one with such a code name… but I made inquiries.  There is one.  He has been gone from this place for many years.”

“This place?” Mr. Wooster

“France,” said Georges, banging on the side of the cab.  “I will leave now. Be careful, Reginald.”  The cab stopped and he hopped out very nimbly for a man of his age. “Care for each other.”

“What on earth, Reg?” asked Mr. Wooster.  I could not even begin to explain.

 

**Bertie**

We returned to the flat in silence.  Jeeves was occupied with his thoughts and I rested against the side of the cab until we reached the hotel.  We ankled back, stopping to purchase some _viands_. I also managed to evade Jeeves long enough to find and purchase some very fruity berets, which I hid in the sacks of vegetables when he was busy surveilling the perimeter and checking before and behind us. We took a circuitous route and entered the flat by entering a building on the next block, jumping from roof to roof and then hopping across a narrow alleyway from balcony to balcony—rummy how these French constructed things—and finally to our own flat. As soon as we had the door closed, Jeeves pulled me into his arms and we held each other, sacks of food bumping against our backs. 

“Will you want to attend your club?” Jeeves asked, taking my sack and looking inside.  His look became very soupy as he took a pink, a red, and a deep green beret from the bag. “Where did you find these?”

“In the shop next to the vegetable stand.” Jeeves then investigated his bag, and found a blue and another deep green beauty.  “The chap said that the green was exactly the right color not to be seen at night.  Black is too dark, he said.”

Jeeves looked at me for a mo, then shimmered the groceries into the kitchen.  He came back with the berets and, setting a hand firmly at the small of the Wooster back, led me to the bedroom.  He closed the door and tossed the headgear on the table next to the bed, then folded me into a very tender embrace, kissing the top of the head and running the fingers through the golden locks.  My breath quickened as he cupped my visage in one hand, gently kissing my eyelids, nose, and cheeks and brushing his lips softly against mine. He settled his other hand at the small of my back, pulling me against his hips. I sighed as he nuzzled against my mouth, my lips parting as he very tenderly probed with his tongue.  The knees turned to jelly and I slumped against him.

“Love?”

“Ah, Reg, I. That is, er.  You. Just topping…” He chuckled and supported me to the bed, bunging off my shoes and pulling open my shirt.  He soon had me undressed and then he peeled off his own clothes and took up the pink beret.

“Would you be so kind, love?”

 

**Jeeves**

While Mr. Wooster rested in my arms wearing nothing but a pink beret, I considered our communication with Georges with great dissatisfaction.  Something was amiss, and some vital clue had been forgotten.  I carefully reviewed all the loose ends that had accumulated since Mr. Wooster and I had arrived in Paris.  Two matters drew my attention. We had received a key to a safe deposit box at a Swiss bank during an earlier adventure, and I had noticed a manila envelope in one of Mr. Wooster’s pockets after he had a tete-a-tete with Mr. Cheesewright.  I shifted and Mr. Wooster opened his eyes.

“That was bally fantastic, Reg.” he said, and I kissed him.  “What is troubling you, Reg?”

“May I look in the envelope that Mr. Cheesewright gave you?”

“Of course, old top. It’s right there on the dresser.”

I opened the envelope to find a letter from the MI6 informing Mr. Wooster that he had been drafted as a field operative in the matter of the spy Dumas and that his activities would be limited to one meeting and then he would be returned to the same ‘dormant’ status I had enjoyed since the war.  Given that he had attended, but not taken his degree at, Oxford, he was awarded the rank of second lieutenant.  About two-thirds down the page a sentence caught my attention,

**_We were very impressed with your father’s record of service in the national security organization before the Great War._ **

The blood turned to ice in my veins.  Mr. Wooster’s father had been a spy.  Could this be why there was so much sudden interest in him?

I climbed back into the bed and gathered Mr. Wooster back into my arms.  He nestled against me, tucking his head under my chin.  My heart went soft at the edges. “Love?”  He grunted sleepily and leaned back, opening his eyes again.

“Yes, Reg?”

“What did your father do?”

“Well, not very much, I think.  I didn’t know him very well.”

“This letter says that he was a spy for the SIB, Bertie.”

“He must have been a great deal smarter than I am.”

“Darling, please do not say such things.”

“Reg?  Do you think the person who wants to see me really knew my father?”

A sense of relief overtook me, and I relaxed but only momentarily.  “That would be a good explanation.”

Mr. Wooster forced himself to wake up more fully.  “Reg, something is worrying you terribly.”

“Bertie, someone just tried to kill our luncheon companion.”

Mr. Wooster started. “Eh? What?! I thought it was like the bread rolls at the Drones.  Do spies not playfully toss knives and wrestle?”

“Not playfully, love. You reacted very nimbly, though.  I was quite impressed.”

“It wouldn’t do to let your dining companion take a dinner roll in the neck.”

“Of course not, love.”

“Er, are you certain that they were aiming to skewer Georges and not one of us?” Despite the dread that Mr. Wooster was the potential target of an armed assassin, my primary feeling in that moment was pride.  His somewhat befuddled look cleared as he read my expression. “You seem highly chuffed about something, heart’s delight,” he said.

“Ah, yes, I am highly chuffed about something. Are you hungry at all?”

“Perhaps in a bit, Reg.”  He reached up and brushed my lips gently with his own, sending a shiver down my spine that curled my toes.

 

**Bertie**

Stilton was scheduled to return the next morning at ten, but Reg and I, having retired immediately after an early supper, were up at the crack of dawn and hoofed it over to the market. We had plenty of food in the house, but I followed along willingly in my role as lamb to his shepherd, asking no questions and trusting to the shelter of his bally muscular arms.  Perhaps we could investigate the scented oils again.  I should have boggled and started when Georges appeared beside one of the butchers, holding out a mold of some sort, but I only took a step back and said “What ho.”

“ _Timbale de veau_ , it is quite tasty, don’t you think, Mr. Wooster?”  Jeeves was immediately at my side, having materialized through a side of beef.

“My aunt’s chef makes a lovely _timbale_ just in my honor when I visit,” I said, taking the mold.

“Yes, your aunt’s chef.”  Georges gave Jeeves a rummy look and turned away.  We followed him to a café and got some espresso and _pain aux pommes_ bunged down on the table before he said anything else. 

Jeeves gave Georges a hard look.  “Are you certain?”

“You did not know what he is?”

“He is a great chef,” said Jeeves in one of his soupier tones.  “Have you seen to the other matter?”

“The knife?”

“And the gun?”

“Yes. They are finished, Reginald.”  Jeeves went pale.  “No, no, they are simply attending to matters more worthy of their attention.” Georges smiled and leaned back and got his comfortable look.  “And how are you dealing with each other?  You have come to some better understanding, I think?”

Jeeves turned slightly pink about the ears and I leapt to his defense.  “I say, old chap, that is hardly preux!”

Georges laughed heartily, looking at Jeeves and winking.  He leaned across the table and placed his hands on our cheeks.  “You are good young men.  Very good to each other. Very kind. That is good.”  He picked up his pastry and stood, then shimmered away.

“That was rummy, Jeeves,” I said, chewing moodily.

“Rummy indeed, sir,” he said.

“And what will we be doing with Stilton today?”

“I believe we will be having a serious discussion.”

 

**Jeeves**

Mr. Wooster and I took a long route back from the café so that I could check for cables.  I was dismayed when we were handed a small envelope. **_Call Director on receipt._**

“I must phone the office,” I said.  Mr. Wooster made no objections to entering a hotel and using their phone.

“I’d like some tea, Jeeves.  Will they bring it to us?”

“I believe so, sir.”  I made arrangements for a more substantial meal to be served, sent a cable for Mr. Cheesewright to meet us, and called for the phone. 

Mr. Wooster and I were enjoying eggs and brioche when the call went through. The Director was perplexed by recent events.  “Colonel Jeeves, I am perplexed by recent events.”

“I apologize, sir.”

“There is no need for apologies.  Can you explain why you and Mr. Wooster were attacked in a bistro last night?”

“No sir.  You know how these spies can be at their watering holes.  Sometimes spirits are simply somewhat high.”

“That seems a rather shoddy explanation, Colonel.”

“I apologize for the levity, sir.  I have not had very much leisure to look into the matter.”

“He is the only person this Dumas is willing to meet.  We must keep him alive until then.”

“It is my intention to keep him alive well after that time, sir.”

“Very good, Colonel.  Have you considered our offer to return to active status?”

“I am deeply honored by the offer. However, my inclination would be to remain in my present role and to continue my studies, sir.”

“Please consider all of your conditions.  It was not easy or simple to obtain this arrangement for you, but it was the only way I knew I could ensure that you did not simply evaporate.”

“Thank-you.  If I may, sir?”

“Of course.” 

“The first conditions are these: I do not wish to be separated from my current employer and I wish him to enjoy all of the protections that I enjoy. We will not take life and we will not compromise our bodies intimately.” Mr. Wooster boggled and started.  “I will require the full term you specified to consult with my employer and finalize the list, but if these initial terms are displeasing to you, it would be as well to know now.” 

“You must realize that in a time of war, such things may be necessary?”

“We will face those exigencies as they arise, sir.  I am specifying that we will not be ordered to engage in such behavior unless we determine it to be the only possible course of action.”

“That sounds acceptable.” 

“I would like you to handle this negotiation personally and in person. Also, and more immediately, can you provide any information on a possible connection between this individual and my employer’s father?”

“We will communicate the results to you as soon as we have them.  I will meet you and your employer in Zurich in a month.” 

“Thank-you, sir.”

Mr. Wooster uncovered my plate.  “It’s getting cold, better eat up.”  I followed his advice and noted that he watched me with what he would term a ‘rummy’ look.

“Are you feeling well, Mr. Wooster.  You appear perplexed.”

“I am perplexed, Jeeves.  It appears that you are not everything that you seem.”

“Nor are you, sir.”

“Why are we discussing intimate compromise?”

“Mr. Wooster, do you understand what the MI6 does?”

“Not exactly, Jeeves.  Can you explain?”

“We are spies.  You and I are spies.”

“I’m not sure that spying is precisely preux.”

“It is decidedly not preux.”

“Rummy.”

“Indeed, sir.”


	3. A surprise flambe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stilton's taste in scented oils is revealed, to his chagrin. Jeeves and Bertie have flambe with an old friend.

**Bertie**

A queasy feeling settled in the Wooster stomach when Jeeves explained that I had agreed to become a spy.  “I say!  Why on earth would they choose Wooster?  I am a fair strike with a dart, of course, but a bit thin on the grey matter, they say.”

A very soupy look ladled itself across the Jeevesian visage. “Please,” he began, when Cheesewright gushed in with the force of the falls at Niagara, Wally hurrying behind, whispering “D’Arcy!” in a rather urgent tone, like unto that of a craven scooter who is trying to apologize for scooting cravenly. 

Jeeves hopped up but I grabbed him by the elbow. “Jeeves, please sit down, “ I said.  “You have graciously sacrificed your holiday to help me with this matter and I must insist on your being as comfortable as possible.”  He gave me a rummy look, but sat just as Stilton paused, chest heaving and fists clenching and unclenching, before us.  “What ho, Stilton? Wally? Fine day we’re having, don’t you think?  Please sit down.  Will you have some breakfast? It’s not equal to what Jeeves can whip up, but certainly acceptable.”

“Thank-you, sir.”

“You’re most welcome, Jeeves.” 

Wally sat down and accepted some brioche while Jeeves shimmered off to obtain additional provender. He thanked me and Jeeves most profusely. Stilton boggled.  As I may have mentioned elsewhere, these beefy coves, while frighteningly wily and focused when it comes to effecting doom and destruction, often get tripped up when attempting to act gay and nonchalant to cover their evident chagrin when plans go awry.  “We haven’t much time,” Stilton said grimly.  “The meeting is tonight.”

I started, sending a chunk of brioche flying through the air.  “Tonight old top?  We’d better fetch back Jeeves.”

He materialized at my side. “Sir?” Another chunk of brioche followed the first.

“Stilton said our meeting is tonight.”

“Our meeting,” said Stilton.  “Jeeves and Wally are not expected.”

Jeeves flashed me a look of foreboding and foresight and fortitude.  I felt fort-whatstit.  “I am afraid I must have Jeeves with me, Stilton.  It would not do otherwise.” Wally and Stilton whispered together urgently, stopping when the waiters issued into the room with eggs and ham.

“I will accompany you, of course, sir,” he said this to me in a tone of finality, and Stilton’s shoulders slumped.  Wally, however, looked highly chuffed, giddy even, and I wondered what was going on between the two of them. It was a shame that it was not preux to ask. Stilton and Wally set to on the eggs and h. with a will. We chatted about the market.  Wally, it appeared was quite a fan, and had acquired some very fruity scented oils in jasmine and bergamot, which sounded interesting.  Stilton flushed when Wally mentioned patchouli and the Cheesewright brow darkened visibly when rose and honeysuckle were mentioned with enthusiasm.   

“Eight o’clock. Our hotel.  Wear this.”  Wally handed Jeeves a canvas bag.  He opened it and paused meaningfully.  “I suspected that he would cut up a fuss at being separated from you.  Just make sure he doesn’t wear those blasted pink socks.”

“As you wish, Mr. Cheesewright,” said Jeeves.

“Thank-you for the breakfast, Wooster.  It was generous of you,” said Stilton.

“Bertie, Colonel,” said Wally.  Stilton and Jeeves closed their eyes and Stilton threw back his head, making a noise like a pained buffalo in his dismay.  

“Of course, of course,” I said heartily, smiling until they issued from the room.  I turned to Jeeves.  “Colonel?”  The heart sank into the shoes when I saw the strained, guilty look on his dial.  “Ah, I should perhaps have applied the old bean.  But one does not like to pry, as you know. It seemed a bit rummy that you could just phone…”

“I apologize.” Jeeves looked ready to burst into tears, which, given that we were in public meant that his eyes were slightly narrower than usual.

“As do I.  Our regime of being more open with each other should commence as soon as possible.” The Jeeveisan d. betrayed some anxiety. “I am not blaming you.  There are some things I should have told you as well.  We have, I know, been meaning to get to these things, but what with events and whatnot.”  He looked so bally miserable, I hooked my pinkie with his under the table. “Are you all right?”

“I am sorry, sir.”

“There is no need for such abjectness, Jeeves. Would you like to take a bedroom so we can talk without fear of being interrupted by waiters?”

“Can we return to the flat?”

“Of course.”

 

**Jeeves**

My mortification at Mr. Fortescue’s accidental revelation of my rank was quite severe, particularly as I had been in the process of explaining the situation when Mr. Cheesewright had stormed in the door.  The time it took to reach the flat was sufficient to settle my nerves somewhat, but Mr. Wooster appeared quite preoccupied and unlike his usual cheerful self.  As I locked the door behind us, he took my hand and led me to the divan.  We sat, facing each other, and he took my other hand in his.

“Reg, I have an important confession to make to you, and I hope that you can forgive me.”  I opened my mouth to interrupt and explain my hesitance to divulge too much information regarding my involvement with MI6, but he squeezed my hands.  “Please, Reg, this is not easy for me.  I, er, you see, actually, Reg, I remember, er, that is, ah, our first kiss.  In fact, the real first kiss, and er, not when I asked you to do a bit of kissing and gave you the option to say no, but the other one, when I was drunk. I know you thought I’d forgotten it—you acted like nothing had happened, but in the past few days, I have felt increasingly guilty when I have heard about your other employers… I had not meant to force you.”

He was referring to an incident that had occurred relatively early in our association, on a night when he had staggered home in an almost shocking state of inebriation and collapsed on the doormat. When I had opened the door, his face lit up in delighted recognition. I had allowed him to rest against me as I closed the door and he had nestled against my shoulder in a very confiding way, much as he does now when I awaken him from a sound sleep.  And, much as it does now, the unthinking affection in his gesture melted the heart within me. I slipped an arm about his waist to steady him as he lurched into the bedroom, pausing every few steps to thank me. The next thing I knew, we were tenderly brushing our lips together. He pulled back and apologized for the lapse, then collapsed in my arms and neither of us mentioned the incident again. My jaw had slackened partway through his revelation, and it took me a moment to realize that Mr. Wooster was waiting for my response.  I could say nothing, and he seemed to sense this because he continued.

“I never really thought about it, Reg, but all this time, I think I have been trying to make you jealous enough to say something to me about that night. When we were at your uncle’s flat, I thought suddenly about what it would be like to have relations with …  I felt ill, Reg. It was not terribly preux, I know, but I could not approach you, and I hope that you can forgive me.”

I turned this around I my mind for some moments, while he patiently waited. “I am not certain exactly who initiated that contact, love.  But I felt… you were so young and clearly less clever and I am.” He opened his mouth indignantly, and I squeezed his hands. “Although much cleverer than I suspected, in fact. And I felt, similarly, that I did not want to influence you unduly. There is really nothing to forgive, Bertie. You know how dangerous such things are and we knew each other so little at the time.  I am sorry, however, that it has given you pain.”

“Ah, Reg, how can you be a colonel when you’re so young?”

“It was a field promotion. My officer had died, and most of the other officers with him.  Someone was needed to direct and they chose me, based on a test they had administered to us.  I spent the rest of the war in an office, studying maps or overlooking battlefields or being trained, and since the war ended, I have been trying to see as much of the world as possible.”

“For your studies? Is that what you meant?”

I hung my head.  “No, that was the psychology of the individual.  I wanted to see the places I’d … where we had sent those men.”

“Ah.” We sat for a few moments lost in our respective thoughts. “Reg?” I met his eyes.  “Is this why you worked for so many different people and never for a long time.”

“In some cases, but not all. It is much easier to discover secrets as a servant than as a gentleman, and I was truthful when I told you that I had left several situations to avoid unwanted blandishments.”

“So, you came to work for me because you needed to be able to go to Brinkley Court?”

“No, not at all. I needed to observe Sir Roderick Glossop.”

“That was on our first trip together.”

“Indeed it was.”

“Why did you stay with me afterward, Reg?”

“Bertie, you are a very kind and generous man and master. I was brought up below stairs and, when I was young, I very much wanted to be a valet and to join the Junior Ganymede Club like my uncle. It is a pleasure to work for you because you recognize and appreciate every small gesture to enhance your comfort. And not only did you never importune me, but you asked no questions about my evenings off or my associates that I was not able to answer.  The ease of our association was such a relief, and you were so generous and flexible that I was able to meet all my obligations without a conflict. It is also difficult to impress upon you the deep gratification I felt in effecting appropriate matches among your set after seeing the destruction during the war. Then, imperceptibly, I fell in love with you, and at the same time, my other obligations became less frequent. I am so sorry I have not been more forthright.” 

Mr. Wooster crawled into my lap and tucked his head under my chin, then pulled one of my arms around himself. I reached down and pulled his shoes off so he could curl up more comfortably, then held him close against me and leaned back to rest my head against the divan.  My heart was comfortably softened by his closeness.

“I fell in love with you, too, Reg.”

“Thank-you again, love.”

“You’re welcome. Does he know?”

“Who?”

“Sir Roderick.”

“He knows I had an association with the office, but not what it was.  Mr. Fortescue and Mr. Cheesewright only know my rank and a few additional details.”

“How much are you going to tell me, Reg?”

“I think I should tell you everything, love.”

“How much of it will upset me?”

“How many of your secrets will upset me?”

“It depends on what you consider a secret, Reg.”

“I do not have the pleasure of understanding you.”

“Is that from a book?”

“ _Mansfield Park._ ”

“Oh. One example is that Rocky and I lied to you.” I sick feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.

“Bertie?”

“About the money. The aunt stopped sending the money before she came to New York. Rocky conspired with me because he, well, I think he wanted something else… and he thought you could meet some nice girl while you were out on the town.  We both did. Or, you are so clever you know, and being a valet doesn’t matter in the States, perhaps you could rise up in industry. Although it was deuced aggravating what he did to my evening dress, Reg.  I say, they are not blasted pajamas.” I smiled against the top of his head.

“I found it most irksome, certainly.”

“The money?”

“No, that was a very kind gesture, from both of you, but the damage to your evening clothes. I had often wished to have the leisure and the funds to partake of such a life, love.  It was very enjoyable.”

“Were you sorry when it ended?”

“I was beginning to feel rather the way you did after a week in Lord Pershore’s company.  I am somewhat older than you and I like a quiet existence in the main.”

“Oh.  So, does this mean you will show me how to take care of myself?  You said before, and I didn’t want to press the point, but we have been…”

“Bertie, I think I will be showing you and teaching you any number of things, to take care of yourself, but likely very few of them will be strictly domestic.”

“Oh.  Why?”

“Because we are going to be partners, Bertie.  The MI6 wants me back and I refuse to be separated from you unless you wish it.”

“But I’ll be bally useless.”

“I understand from Mr. Seppings that you are able to jump backward eleven feet to safety  and land behind a two and a half foot-tall setee from a standing start, love.”

“Only when Stilton is chasing me and murder bent….when did Seppings tell you this?”

“The evening it occurred.  He was highly amused, and it made an interesting entry in the Junior Ganymede book.”

“Interesting entry?”  Mr. Wooster stiffened and spluttered a bit.  I rubbed his back.

“Bertie, I know you feel like a buffoon in many of the situations in which you find yourself, but there are many ways to examine these stories.”

“I see.” He did not see, but he was mollified by my tone.  I would have to explain, but clearly he did not want to discuss this any further. “I think I’d like to take a nap.”

“Do you want any help getting ready, love?”

“I want you to stay with me.”

“Is it acceptable if I read while you rest, then, love?”

“Of course, but I meant something else, Reg. I don’t want you to leave me alone with Stilton tonight.”

“Mr. Cheesewright saved your life. In all honesty, love, I am not sure I would have had the presence of mind to act as quickly as he did in the circumstances. And frankly, I would rather not leave you and Mr. Fortescue alone together.”

“He has been acting oddly and I don’t want to talk about that old business at school. That night he was shot, he was quivering like a reed when he smelled that stuff you put on his arm, that ointment.  Being shot didn’t turn a hair on his head, but that smell did, and it does the same thing to me, and I don't... It was bad enough telling you even the little bit I could, Reg.  I couldn't bear to tell anyone else.”  As I soothed Mr. Wooster, I found myself revising my anxieties about Mr. Cheesewright’s behavior.  Both he and Mr. Wooster clearly had strong, bad associations with their boyhood school.  If his desire to be alone with Mr. Wooster stemmed from a desire to speak about a shared unpleasant experience rather than a desire to have sexual relations, perhaps I could find a way to satisfy all parties.

“I’ll do my best, Bertie, but my primary concern is to preserve your life, and Mr. Cheeswright has certainly done his best to protect you.  Would you like me to hold you until you fall asleep?”

“Then how can you read?”

“I’ll manage.”

 

**Bertie**

Jeeves examined the clothes that Stilton had left for us quite carefully before we tried them on, rather like one of those scientist coves piecing together those vast dinowhatits one sees in the more boring class of museum. The lines hugged the figure much more than our usual togs, so much so that the usual undergarments could not be admitted and Jeeves substituted the stretchy ones we’d worn for Swedish exercises. There were two tight black sweaters with suede patches at the elbows and shoulders and two pairs of beautiful, stretchy black trousers.  Jeeves looks absolutely delicious in his.  They cup his bottom and emphasize the muscles in his thighs quite delightfully then taper over his appetizing calves to the beautifully trim Jeevesian ankles.  Apparently mine do similar things for the willowy form because the instant we saw each other thus attired, the mouths slackened and we were on each other like starving men on _entrecote marchand._ When we regained our senses, we were twined together, half off the bed, panting and sweating. My trousers were hanging from the lampshade and his sweater was in the doorway to the bathroom. The Jeevesian trousers were still around his ankles and my sweater was stuffed up under my arms.  The ring I had given him dangled from his neck.

“Reg, that was absolutely smashing.  Just ripping.” 

“Most pleasing, indeed, love.  I did not realize you could do that with your legs.” He helped me peel off the sweater and pulled us onto the bed, kicking off his trousers and settling with his head on my shoulder.  I bunged an arm around him and kissed the top of his head.

“Nor did I.  Perhaps the Swedish exercises have loosened the joints. Please explain what clothes like this are for.”

“They are intended to enable us to scale buildings and effect entry by stealth.”

“Shouldn’t they be green?  The chap at the beret store said that black is visible at night.”

Something clicked into place in the Jeevesian brain. “Bertie, did you have this conversation in French?”

“Yes, but there was an English chap asking if he could have a violet colored beret.  He seemed vastly annoyed that the proprietor was not being more meeching.  Vast Caesar-looking cove, all seriousness and reserve until I pulled that pink beret out of a pile of ecru ones for myself.  He became quite, well chummy is the wrong word, but definitely a shade less domineering, and asked if I saw any violet colored lids about the place.”

Jeeves pulled the lids down over the peepers for a long moment. “Did you find one for him?”

“There were two mixed in with the grey ones.  I told him the light was tricky in these foreign lands.”  Jeeves moved up and rubbed his nose against mine and then commenced gently nibbling the Wooster lips. We came up for air eventually. “That was delicious, Reg.  But in re: tonight.  I do not foresee how I can possibly keep the digits to myself with you kitted out so enticingly. Er, if you get dressed again, that is.  In addition and to wit: how revolting will the pair of them look in such attire?”  We collapsed in a heap of mirth.

Time was growing short, so we mopped ourselves up and Jeeves chivvied us into evening dress. “Reg?  This is the suit I was wearing when…”

“We kissed the first time.  Yes.”  I touched his face and then lifted up on the toes to brush the lips against his.

“You saved it?”

“It is still quite becoming. I felt the uncertainties of the trip were such that I did not want to risk your better clothes, and now I find that I must ask you to stay away from London for an extended period.”

“We should hie for our assignation with Stilton.  I can get new clothes.”

“Yes, let us go.”

Stilton and Wally looked less gruesome than I expected.  They are vast, beefy blighters and their form-fitting garb merely made them look v. and b. Of course, Stilton growled and carried on about our togs, but Wally took his elbow.

“D’Arcy, we’re meeting him at a restaurant.  You and I can stand lookout while Wooster and Jeeves make contact inside.”  Stilton growled his consent and then started rolling up bits of rope.  Wally continued.  “Mr. Jeeves and Mr. Wooster, I am very sorry for my lapse earlier.  I do sincerely hope it has not caused you any difficulties.” 

“No worries, old fruit,” I assured him.  “Jeeves and I are quite as chummy as ever.”

“Indeed, sir,” said Jeeves in a soupy tone.  “Are there any more details of the plan available?”

“D’Arcy didn’t get a real gander at him last time.  It was dark, and he was obscured by the flame from a _flambé_ pan.”  I made an appreciative noise, and Jeeves elbowed me in the ribs. “He may have information on the location of this Wolf character.”

Cheesewright and Wally ankled it and then Jeeves and I followed in a cab some minutes later.  The restaurant was simply topping. Quite elegant and all that.

“How will we explain?” I was turning to ask Jeeves, before the maitre’d seated us, when a cry from behind a _flambé_ pan distracted me.

“Mr. Wooster!  Reginald!”  The voice was that of Anatole, culinary miracle-worker of Brinkley Court.  He took a month in Paris whenever he could be spared, the wonders of the table to enhance.  “I am very happy to see you!”  He said something to the maitre’d and suddenly two additional places were set at his table.

“I say, Anatole, this is quite topping,” I said as we partook of the _filet mignon au poivre_.  Jeeves seemed to be relishing it as well.

“Yes, M. Anatole, thank-you very much for this kindness.”

Anatole had quite a lot to tell us about the _filet_ and Brinkley Court.  Apparently, Tuppy Glossop had been rather rude about something and earned the Anatolian ire.  Finally, while we partook of the _crepes suzette,_ Anatole became more serious.  “I think, young Reginald, that we maybe found your captain, the _bisou_ Woolf, we call him. Maybe he is not killed like we thought.” Jeeves went white, and I could see that we would be up late into the night talking, but not for a few days.  He would need some time to think first.  “Yes, it is good that this does not spoil your supper.” Anatole slipped an envelope under the table.  “I cannot tell anyone except you, and I know Mr. Wooster will bring you and then your name is out of everything.” He turned to me. “Your father was a good man, Mr. Wooster. Your family is friends to Anatole and Anatole does not forget his friends. You give this to the man who chases you to break your spine.  I do not like to talk to him unless he can convince you to come.  He is not so bad?”

The bean flashed up a series of images.  Stilton threatening to break the Wooster spine in five places.  Stilton taking a bullet in the arm but keeping his body between me and the gun. Stilton falling in love with lady novelists.  Stilton blushing when Wally mentioned patchouli oil. “No, Anatole, he is not so bad.  He saved my life.”  Clearly the fusion of soul will remain imperfect, but he is not so bad. Anatole gave me another envelope.

“Good.  Do you like to have some coffee?”

“Yes, of course, Anatole.” 

We scuffled quite a bit over the bill when it came. 

“I believe that we can send the bill to MI6, sir.”

Anatole finally relented when I started begging. “Anatole, I must insist.  Aunt Dahlia would never forgive me if I did not ensure that you were feted and coddled as much as possible.  Please?  It would be a kindness to me.” 

We ankled out and put Anatole in a cab.  Jeeves slipped him the _timbale_ that Georges had given us.  The Anatolian eyes widened.  “It is matching my own pans at home.  Where did you get this?”

“A friend of mine gave it to me.  I do not know anything more.” 

“You be careful Reginald.  You will be taking good care of Mr. Wooster.”

“I will.”

 

**Jeeves**

Although I was deeply shaken by Anatole’s communication that my officer was perhaps alive, Mr. Cheesewright and Mr. Fortescue were satisfied with the outcome of the meeting. “Thank heaven we did not have to eat any more of that bally _flambé._ ”  Mr. Wooster shuddered at this sentiment, but managed to smile blandly and make no comment.  While Mr. Fortescue returned upstairs to dress, I took the opportunity to speak briefly with Mr. Cheesewright.

“You might find, Mr. Cheesewright, that Mr. Wooster does not understand your intentions with regard to him. He has extreme difficulty speaking about events at your boyhood school and I do not wish to see him distressed by these matters.”

“Ah.  Extreme difficulty?”

"Yes, and I would prefer that you not distress him by asking him questions."

While at the desk making some inquiries regarding the times of trains, I overheard the exchange between Mr. Wooster and Mr. Cheesewright with some amusement and some sorrow.

“Wooster, I wanted to tell you. Er, about that ointment, the night I was shot.  The smell of it.”

“Beastly stuff.” They both shuddered.

Mr. Cheesewright lowered his voice. “Yes, beastly. Wooster, I know you do not want to speak of this, but I must tell you something.  I am sorry. I didn't know that you... I tried, you know, to stop him from getting to you.”

Mr. Wooster went very still, then he put a reassuring hand on Mr. Cheesewright's arm. “Stilton, how terribly, terribly kind of you. Thank-you enormously, old top. That was bally good of you.”

Mr. Cheeswright smiled. “Will I see you for Swedish exercises?”

“Perhaps some time, but I believe Jeeves and I have some business to settle tomorrow morning.”

“We’re returning to London tomorrow.”

“Ah.  Godspeed, then Stilton.”

We set off to return to our flat as if to a home, and I began to feel suddenly uneasy.  It is dangerous for spies to feel too much at home in a place that another spy has visited. “Mr. Wooster, would you mind terribly if we took a room at a hotel tonight?”

“Of course not.”  He was good enough not to ask why and quite cheerfully allowed me to splash him with drink.  We took a room in an out-of-the-way place, pretending that we were too inebriated to find the house where we were staying.  We woke early and did some Swedish exercises, discovering that we could not, in fact, contain ourselves. Later, we returned to our flat to find that it had remained undisturbed.  There was, however, a violet-colored beret on the divan. Mr. Wooster gasped when he saw it. “Reg, did you fear that something was amiss?”

“I did, love. If you do not mind, I would like to pack our things immediately and go.”  He raised no objections as we gathered our relatively few belongings and informed the doorman we would not renew at the end of our week, which was the next day. Thankfully, our passports and bank account books were in a safe deposit box at a nearby hotel. 

We entered a cab, and across the street, I saw a man in a rumpled tweed suit, with dark circles under his eyes, leaning in a doorway reading the _London Times._ He looked up over the top of the paper, nodded and smiled, then folded up the paper and turned to go.

“That’s the cove from the beret store,” said Mr. Wooster, pretending to fuss with something in his coat. “Do you think he knows about the other flat?”

“I had it emptied two days ago, but I assure you that he will not be a danger to us.”

“Oh. You’ll tell me all when you are ready?”   

“Of course, sir.”

“Do we have that heather mixture lounge with us?  Good. I do like that one. Where are we going now?”

“I took a house in Italy for the next few weeks. I thought we could do with a proper rest well away from all this.” Mr. Wooster hooked our pinkies under the coat he had laid on the seat.

“That sounds corking.  Can we find some stealth clothing in green, do you think?”

“Perhaps, but after our experience with the black, I find that I would like to effect your rough-and-tumble plan as soon as possible.”

“Jolly good, Jeeves.”


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie and Jeeves spend some time alone...finally

**Bertie**

A few years later, I discovered that the French spy community had given me the code name “ _timbale de veau_ ” after this adventure, apparently because I was so young.  Bally embarrassing, but still better than the MI6 code PB for “purple beret.” Bally Americans have called me “peanut butter” for years now and you should see the look Jeeves gives them when they call us PB and J, cheeky blighters. The French call Jeeves “M. l’enigma,” which is much more dignified.  Of course, that is a very different story.

The next three weeks soothed the Wooster and the Jeevesian spirits.  We stayed in a bally beautiful house by a secluded lake and, aside from a few forays into the nearby village for provender and supplies, no one interrupted our increasing fusion of soul.  The countryside is not always hospitable to the Wooster spirit—Rocky Todd’s place on Long Island tortured the senses—but a day with Jeeves in a secluded villa flits quickly. After a refreshing swim in our loose shorts, we’d do Swedish exercises a la Cheesewright, then rinse off in the lake, have breakfast and do some reading.  A heap of snore-inducing papers had been bunged over for Jeeves in Zurich, and I did my best not to hinder his efforts.  In the afternoons, he would fish, which involved a great deal of thinking and very few fish, or we would ankle about the woods or whatnot. I practiced darts or threw knives or climbed trees and rocks and Jeeves taught me how to slide down ropes. Then we would whip up some supper and feed each other bits with our fingers.

Our villa had a rickety and out-of-tune piano, so I made good on my promise to impart my lessons to my man. Afterward, we would talk, or hold hands and watch the sun set and then play a variety of games.  Jeeves insisted that we dress properly for dinner at least once each week, but aside from that we did not wear very much, and we spent so much time curled up together naked that I almost started to forget where my body ended and his began.

Of course, not everything was sunny. It was dashed unsettling to learn that Jeeves was going to have to rejoin the MI6 because this Director chap believed that another great conflict was coming.  Although I bally well understand wanting to bung all one’s problems at the Jeevesian fish-fed brain, I felt rather pipped at the fellow’s dashed cheek in telling my man that he could not live the life he wants. I was invited to join him, on my own merits, and not merely because he insisted. Flattering enough, but I rather quailed at the thought of the training.  Stilton’s shouting did not soothe the nerves. Even Aunt Dahlia says harsh things when I make mistakes, which cuts rather to the quick. Given how much of the sensitive Wooster underbelly I’d shown, I did not think I could bear it from Jeeves. 

Thankfully, Jeeves is a gentle teacher.  On the second day at the lake, he had set me up with some knives and a good stout piece of board to practice my aim in a largish room usually devoted to the activities of pigeons.  It was quite different from darts. After a few throws, a stray pigeon distracted me and I tossed a bally bad knife, knocking down a huge chunk of plaster.  Jeeves was right behind me and I reflexively flinched, covering my head with both arms. I felt his warm, reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Bertie, love, did you hurt yourself?”

“I, ah, er.” I stammered. “I am sorry about the wall.”  I could feel him shaking with the force of a strong emotion as he gently helped me straighten up. The look of utter sadness on his face started me weeping and apologizing. 

He tucked me under his chin and bunged the arms about me. “Bertie, I would never willingly strike you. Let’s try again tomorrow.” We did not speak of it again, but our lovemaking was very gentle and tender for the next few days. He put two and two together and realized I’d been bunged about the head right sharp many times, which rather ruined the enjoyment in several areas.  Jeeves improved matters greatly, starting with the piano. He would keep one arm around my waist when I played the classical rot, and I found that the music was not all that bad, even if it was not in the category of the ditties we enjoyed at the Drones.

**Jeeves**

Mr. Wooster and I spent a very enjoyable few weeks getting to know each other better before we investigated his safe deposit box and met the Director.  I remain grateful for his loving presence and his gentlemanly reluctance to question me about my feelings. At the end of our first week together, we were curled up in bed reading, when Mr. Wooster made a discovery.

“I say, Reg?”

“Yes, love?”

“Why is the back cover of your Poet Burns so bally lumpy?  Did I do something to it?”

I bent to look and saw that he was, indeed, correct. In the course of our amorous activities, we had spilled some patchouli oil, which had swelled the cardboard, but did not explain the lumps under the end paper. The oil had also dissolved the glue and we were able to lift the paper away.  Inside was a tiny key—would we never have any peace from safe deposit boxes?—and a smeared but still legible note.

**_Lad, I locked up some things you will value rather highly, I think.  I should perhaps apologize, but instead I hope we meet again as men and equals. W._ **

“Rummy,” said Mr. Wooster, rubbing my back and resting his head on my shoulder.

“Indeed,” I replied, feeling a sense of nausea at the thought of meeting my officer again and a sense of humiliation that I had accepted this gift at its face value.  “I suppose we should disassemble the front cover and the Spinoza as well.”

“Would you like to be rubbed with some rose-scented oil while you think?”

“I think I would prefer the jasmine, unless you would like to continue with the patchouli.”

“Jolly good.”

As I enjoyed the sensations of Mr. Wooster running his delightful hands over my tense muscles, I contemplated the path before us.  It would not be easy, but we would be together, and that, perhaps, was the most important thing to consider for now. We were still young lovers and our enjoyment of the scented oil eventually became much more mutual.  After drowsing in my arms for a few minutes, Mr. Wooster stirred.

“Reg?”

“Yes, love?”

“Did they really say ‘on his own merits’?”

“Indeed they did, love.”

We kissed and curled up together in the dwindling light, secure in the knowledge that we would have another day of peace together.


End file.
